


paint your own

by shmabs



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, steve is a dork and so is nat, they're both dorks ~together~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shmabs/pseuds/shmabs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They end up at a little hole-in-the-wall pottery store, because Natasha saw a sign boasting “paint your own pottery” and pulled Steve inside before he could so much as think of protesting.</p><p>“Oh gosh,” Steve breathes reverently, “look at how cute this miniature teapot is.”</p><p>Nat looks up from where she’s been browsing the small unicorn statues and raises a brow - a tad judgmentally, in Steve’s opinion. “You don’t even drink tea, dumbass.”</p><p>Steve decidedly doesn’t pout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	paint your own

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is for the lovely marvelruinedmyspirit who requested steve/nat and anything that could surprise them for the marvel rarepair exchange. huge thanks to holly for the lightening fast beta and also for working her butt off to make sure everyone that participated in the exchange got a fic - you're a superhero!

It’s one in the afternoon on a completely unremarkable Tuesday, and Steve is about to lose it.

“Look Tony, I think it’s really great that you decided to try cooking for once, but I don’t understand why you put all the pans in the sink “to soak” and then left for seven hours!”

“I don’t expect you to understand the intricate complexities of the scientific reverse engineering that I do, so I’ll just give you the cliffsnotes version. I had some important, will-probably-change-the-future-of-technology shit to do and figured that someone else could do the dishes since I cooked dinner.”

Steve rubs his face with both hands roughly and wishes yet again that he wasn’t the most responsible person in Avengers Tower. What he wouldn’t give to pass this conversation off onto someone else.

“Tony, your lasagna was so hard it cracked the floor; there was no way we were gonna be able to eat that thing!”

“First you tell me I don’t know how to do dishes, now you’re insulting my cooking? Y’know Rogers, I thought you had finally undergone surgery to remove that gigantic stick stuck up your asshole, but I guess it was just wishful thinking.”

Before Steve can respond with something equally as witty, there’s a whisper of cloth moving gently over skin and then Natasha appears, seemingly out of nowhere, directly in front of Tony. Steve’s not proud to say that the little involuntary noise Tony lets out, somewhere between a shriek of fear and a whimper of surprise, absolutely makes his day. He smothers his smile with a hand over his mouth, but when Nat catches his eye and winks at him, he can tell that she knows.

“Hey Steve. Tony,” Nat greets, looking just as lethal and unreadable as always while wearing a brightly colored floral dress and an oversized sunhat. Well, Steve supposes that some people still see Natasha as a mysterious, deadly spy and nothing more, but he knows better by now.

“Fuck you Natasha, I told you not to sneak up on me! My reflexes are honed to attack anyone that tries to surprise me, so you’re lucky I realized it was you before it was too late,” Tony splutters, eyeing Natasha suspiciously. It seems like he’s trying to reconcile the fact that she wears something other than all-black leather and spandex. Nat just raises an eyebrow at him and his mouth clicks shut. Steve has never been more in awe of another human being in his entire life than he is right now, and he actually met the president one time.

“Shut the fuck up and wash those dishes before I break them all over your head - crusty lasagna and all.” Nat’s voice brooks no argument and Tony’s only response is to execute a sarcastic salute, about-face, and then book it into the kitchen. His exit would be perfect if not for the sign proclaiming “I’m with DUM-E” taped to his back and fluttering slightly with every step.

“So,” Nat starts, turning her gaze on Steve speculatively. “You look like you could do with some air.”

Steve barks a laugh and smiles down at her. “You have no idea.”

\-------

They end up at a little hole-in-the-wall pottery store, because Natasha saw a sign boasting “paint your own pottery” and pulled Steve inside before he could so much as think of protesting.

“Oh gosh,” Steve breathes reverently, “look at how cute this miniature teapot is.”

Nat looks up from where she’s been browsing the small unicorn statues and raises a brow - a tad judgmentally, in Steve’s opinion. “You don’t even drink tea, dumbass.”

Steve decidedly doesn’t pout.

“Yeah, but it’s really cute. I could paint stars on it. And give it to Jane and Thor!”

“They don’t drink tea either.”

The glare Steve sends Nat’s way falls flat since she’s moved on to looking at shotglasses and doesn’t even notice. He puts the miniature teapot back anyway. It _would_ be kind of useless.

He’s idly looking at a large ceramic bowl and trying to figure out if he could paint a 360 view of his old neighborhood when he hears a sharp, “oh _fuck_ yes,” off to his left. Steve glances over and his mouth drops open involuntarily because Natasha is balancing at least five  _extremely breakable_ ceramic mugs (that are also incredibly overpriced) in the cradle of her arms. She tosses him a delighted grin over her shoulder as she swaggers up to the register and places their pottery on the countertop carefully.

The employee behind the register rings them up and then directs them to an empty table towards the back where “you can paint without worrying too much about being recognized, Ms. Widow.” Nat smiles hugely at the young woman, whose nametag reads “Cassie,” and picks up half of their mugs, following Cassie to a small table covered in neatly organized painting supplies. Absently, Steve grabs the rest of the mugs and follows them, trying to ignore the way Nat’s smile made his stomach flop over uncomfortably.

Steve knows, has known for a while now, that Natasha isn’t just a badass superspy ex-assassin. She’s a sucker for shitty horror movies. Her favorite kind of jam is peach; second favorite is strawberry. So far, she and Clint have rescued a total of thirteen dogs during missions. She can, and has, choked him out with nothing but her thighs. Her favorite jokes are called “dad jokes,” and he still doesn’t entirely understand them, but she always looks so pleased with herself when she tells him one that he can’t help but laugh. Steve knows that Nat’s not the untouchable, unreadable, ultra-violent person that Tony seems to think she is, but she’s also _Natasha_ , and that makes everything much more difficult.

He sighs and makes his way to the little table where Nat’s sitting, surrounded by ceramic mugs on all sides.

“What exactly are we gonna do with all these mugs? I mean, I know I’m an artist but I’ve never tried paint your own pottery before, so I can’t promise these won’t look shitty.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and pushes three of the mugs to him, keeping three for herself. “We’re gonna make Avengers mugs and everyone’s gonna love them. Or else they’ll be answering to me.” She grins, teeth flashing, and Steve realizes all over again just how doomed he is.

“Alright,” he agrees absently, looking over the mugs and trying to figure out what he can do with them, “as long as I get to do you.”

There’s a moment of utter silence where the only thing Steve can hear is blood rushing in his ears and he wants to say something, make sure Nat knows it was just a slip of the tongue and that he totally didn’t mean it all, really, I’m just tired, but before he can do more than open his mouth, Nat’s giggling, actually _giggling_ , and wiggling her eyebrows at him faux-seductively.

“You wanna do me? Well why didn’t you say so earlier? I would’ve just taken you back to my place instead of this dumb pottery date.”

Steve chokes on air. “Wah - wait a second, is this a date?” A montage of lunches at fancy restaurants, movie marathons while no one else was at the tower and many a long walk through Central Park, all with Natasha laughing and smiling at his side, flash before his eyes. “Have you been taking me out on dates this whole time?”

There’s a loud thunk as Nat lets her forehead fall against the table. “Oh my god Steve, yes, I’ve been taking you on dates for months now! I thought you knew! I didn’t realize I had to spell it out for you!”

“Well,” Steve splutters, blushing fiercely, “I haven’t really dated many people, ever, I dunno how I was supposed to figure this out without a little help!”

“Oh,” Nat says, lifting her face from the table, “I didn’t really think about that.” She reaches a hand across the table and touches his cheek gently. “I’m sorry, Steve. I guess I’m not very used to this whole dating thing either. Wanna start over?”

He nods and she retracts her hand, offering it to him to shake.

“Hello Steve, I’m Natasha, and I’d really like to take you on a date. Would you like to go out with me?”

Steve takes her hand and shakes it, face solemn and serious, until he cracks a smile and starts laughing quietly. “Natasha, I would love for you to take me on a date. Perhaps we could paint our own pottery?”

They end up getting paint all over each other and the mugs turn out kind of wonky, but Steve’s never been happier.

 

//end//


End file.
